Nikki Giovanni

Nikki Giovanni was in town tonight. In many ways, Nikki is the reason I write. I was a student of hers, many years ago. She is a gifted writer, but perhaps an even more gifted teacher. There are plenty of classes to teach you structure and clarity, but very few to teach you that you have something valuable to say. I was in my early 20s when I studied with Nikki, and I was still recovering from 20 years of adults implying that, as a kid, I had nothing valuable to say. It's a subtle thing adults do. It's not the abusive yelling at kids to "shut up," but simply not encouraging them to engage in debates or decision making, and certainly not admitting that kids ever have insights that adults don't.

Of course, I see it from the other side now. Even though I don't have kids, I hope that my generation is better at this than my parent's generation. I can at least say that for the people around me. And actually, by the time I met Nikki, I was pretty much on my way. I started working in theatre when I was 13, so by the time I was in college, I had no fear of self expression, personal or political.

But Nikki pushed us to put what was most vulnerable on paper, because that was what was most valuable. It was intense for me, but I saw other students for whom it was totally new terrain. The look on a kids face, and yes, we were kids, the first time they write what they thought was too personal to speak, and find out that everyone in the room shared the feelings and valued the expression. It was a class where spelling and grammar didn't count. (Yes, they're important, but plenty of people can teach you that.) And there was no right way to write and only one wrong one: in someone else's voice. It was a personal narrative class, and we read dozens of essays; only one was by Nikki.

Now, years later as a working writer, I see the results of not pushing young people to find a voice: adults who write so safely, dispassionately,  and boringly that they couldn't build a convincing case for gravity. Sometimes it's a letter, often it's a distinguished professional having to write a journal article, worse yet, it's sometimes a copywriter. Some would say they don't have a voice, others that they haven't found it. I'd say simply that they don't trust it.

Having a voice means saying things that people may disagree with. We train people to censor themselves, and it shows in their writing: words so carefully tailored that nobody could disagree with them or care about them. Compelling writing, from poetry to advertising is a risk. It's the willingness to abandoned safety, speak sincerely, and realize that a the handful of people who may think you are offensive, crazy, or simply wrong, is a pretty good trade off for the many people who will get what you have to say.

Nikki still speaks writes from the heart and speaks her mind, and damn anyone who objects. Speaking of Rosa Parks' lying in state in Montgomery, she recounted "that crazy bitch Condoleeza Rice" showing up and how it was if Rosa Parks' casket moved away as Rice reached out to touch it. Perhaps some were offended, but most of the crowd simply cheered.